She came out of her air-conditioned office and while traversing the whole floor to reach the lift, she relished the fact that this plush carpeted floor with its discreet décor belonged to her. She left a wave of expensive perfume in her wake. Tall and straight she had a model’s grace.
Outside in the director’s slot stood her car. Today she had brought her favorite brown one. “Sleek like you,” Anand often teased her. She took out the keys from her purse in one go. She hated people who fumbled, who rummaged. She carelessly threw her Gucci bag on the front seat and slid into driving seat. The presence of that old fuss-pot Ram Singh, who she knew had faithfully reported every place she visited to Papa, hovered in her mind. Dear Papa! How she missed his domineering ways! But now she made her own rules and no-driver was the rule for today. That Papa’s princess had not developed Princess Syndrome, she silently gave credit to Papa for this.
With a fond smile she adjusted the driver’s mirror. In the late afternoon sun her favorite diamond pendent glinted back at her. Her face glowed. Her hair shone. At forty she could be mistaken for thirty. She started the car, her bejeweled fingers steady and sure like her on the wheel. She had a passion for rings and had collected hundreds of them.
Joining the main road, she let the car have its head. She loved speed. Adventurous by nature she had always been bold to court danger. She was known for the unconventional methods she adopted in the boardroom – projects spiced up with challenge were her forte. Her quick tongue-lashing had reduced many to quivering masses. But today she was in a happy mood. She had won the contract. It was another milestone in her career.
She had given herself a few hours off (a privilege of being one’s own boss) to do shopping – a real treat considering her busy schedule. She could have asked her secretary to shop for her, but she wanted to add the personal touch. She was happy; she wanted the world to be happy. The gifts were going to be extra lavish so that nobody could apply the word stingy to her. Today she had made up her mind to pamper them. With the contract under her belt – no, she was wearing a sari today – anyway, she was in an expansive mood and ready to share her happiness with her near and dear ones. Though deciding what to buy for her two daughters was a trifle difficult. They had everything. It was a problem of plenty. She didn’t want to raise ‘wanting machines’ by giving her children everything, but she didn’t want depressed teenagers at her hand because she had been too controlling a parent. The difficulties Papa must have faced while bringing her up single-handed! She shrugged her shoulders good-humorously; she would decide in the Department Store what to buy for them. For Anand, she knew she was going to buy those printed silk shirts. She had bought them for him by dozen but now and then new shades did appear. What would Anand give her on her birthday next month? A smile fitted across her face. He was so boringly obvious. He would bring some piece of jewelry, she was sure. Unimaginative brute, she had been in the habit of calling him during their pre-marriage days. Unimaginative he still was, but very gentle because he had the gentleness of the mighty. Again a smile fitted across her face. The wind lifted her hair slightly. She was smiling a lot. Suddenly there was a look of concentration on her face. She was thinking of her trusted lieutenants at the domestic front who ran her home smoothly on oiled wheels. Giving the bonus was not simply enough. She must show her appreciation of their hard work; a separate gift cheque of Rs. 5000 to each? That will be better than buying gifts. More practical too! Would save time too! Would give them too a chance to buy what they needed. When had she ever needed anything, she chided herself, to know what need means?
She lifted her hand from the steering wheel to smoothen her hair. The vehicle came to a gentle halt. It was the terminus. She got up from the window seat, raking her fingers through the windblown hair to bring them into some kind of order. An outsider would see a lined, prematurely aged face, her shoulders bent with care. Her work roughened hands clutched a brown jute shopping bag. She carried a cheap beige purse. She was like any other common shopper whose appearance screams that she has to count her pennies and was used to putting everyone else’s needs in front of her own, whom you will have to admonish, ‘Smile’. She waited patiently for her turn to get off the bus.
The stars were still in her eyes – placed there by the trip that her fantasy had given her. But they were at variance with her prosaic appearance. Reality was fast returning to snatch them away. The reverie was gradually fading and reality returning with a vengeance. She adjusted her sari and started listing the shopping items in her mind… “Rice, Tata salt, Nirma…”
(Image source: Torcello Trio from Wiki used under a CC BY-SA 2.0 license)
